Stay Down
by Lawless67
Summary: He doesn't have it in him to lie down, to give up. It galls his pride, and he finds himself rising, every time. Rated T for language.


**A/N**: Sorry it's so short, but my brain is being uncooperative. Enjoy. Please remember that even one word reviews make me happy.

**Disclaimer**: They're not mine, because this is real life, and we don't always get what we want.

"_**You always have a choice. You can either roll over and die, or you can keep fighting, no matter what."**_

_**-Dean Winchester (2.01)**_

_ Stay down._

It's a command he's heard all his life.

_ Stay down, Dean. I know Sammy cries, but he needs to learn to sooth himself without you in there with him_.

He stays awake, even after his father's soft snores sound, even after Sam's whimpers have died down, and in the morning John finds him curled inside the crib, arms around the baby once more.

_Stay down. I don't want to have to worry about hitting you by accident._

It's his first hunt, and he's back up only. And when the werewolf catches John off-guard, it's Dean who pulls the trigger. It's Dean who is quietly sick in the bushes while his father disposes of the body. It's Dean who can't sleep because of those almost-human eyes that plague his dreams. It's Dean who cries silently while Sam strokes his hair and doesn't have a clue what's wrong.

_Stay down, you little shit. _

He's lying on the ground, face shoved into the dirt, with one ninth grader straddling his back and another using his ribs for punting practice. Blood rolls sluggishly from his nose, and one eye is closing fast, and Sam is crying and screaming in the hold of a third party. And all Dean can see is the purpling bruise marring his little brother's left cheek. It hurts like hell, but he gets up.

_ Stay down, kid, I'll call you a cab._

He's never been this drunk before, feels like he's drowning in whiskey and cheap beer and whatever the hell else he downed in the wake of Sam's leaving. There's no numbing this pain, and he's stopped trying, but he needs to get back to the hotel. He doesn't know how he stumbles out of the bar, down the street, and into the room. Right now, he barely knows his own name. But before he lets the slosh of alcohol pull him under, he fumbles for his phone. The text reads only _I'm fine. Call you later. _But Dean sighs in relief before the walls crash and he sobs himself to sleep.

_ Stay down, sir, take a break. Recovery takes time. _

He's alone and twenty-four years old and his knee is screwed to hell. He hasn't heard from his father in two months, and Sam hasn't answered his last three calls. His physical therapist is too peppy, and he hates her. His doctor basically told him to cool the fuck down if he doesn't want another surgery. His knee screams and his arms shake and his knuckles turn white from their grip on the bars, but grits his teeth and swings his leg in a semblance of a walk. The pain is unimaginable, but it's worth every drop of sweat when he completes his recovery three weeks ahead of schedule.

_Stay down, Dean-o, or baby brother bites it._

The demon has a knife to Sam's throat, and Dean is frozen in place, his gun tossed away. Then the thing laughs, a horrid, cackling rasp from its host's throat, and draws the point of the knife under Sam's ear. Sam makes a strangled, protesting sound as a thin line of red wells and slides down his neck, and Dean loses it. When his vision clears, the black smoke is gone and he holds his brother, relatively unharmed, in his arms.

_ Stay down, Dean Winchester. You are nothing but a speck of dust, and I will annihilate you._

Zachariah's minions are not understanding of his refusal to do their bidding. He's on his knees, bruised and bleeding, and Zach stands in front of him. He looks pleased with himself, and his eyes ask if Dean has learned his lesson. And Dean laughs. Because the half-dozen twinges of pain in his body don't hold a candle to forty years in Hell. So when the angel demands his obedience, Dean lifts his chin, and pushes to his feet. He spits blood and grins and tells the angel to go fuck himself. It's a matter of pride.

_Stay down, Dean. I've got this._

Sam's tone is cutting, and Dean hears the implied _I don't need you. _But his baby brother is hurting and he doesn't deserve to be carved up by a bunch of demons just because he's pissed at Dean. So Dean ignores the bite of broken ribs, and the bite of Sam's words. He's nothing if not stubborn, and he can deal with Sam's anger later.

Right now, his brother needs him.

_Stay down._

He never does. It's not in him.


End file.
